Specimen 1
by VengefulMothSlayer
Summary: A tall building sits like a rotten tooth in a rough district of New York; And at the top of these six floors, there is a strange man who no-one remembers moving in. Who pierces the crooked corridors with screams in the night.
1. Chapter 1

**I just… What. No idea where this came from. **

A tall building sits like a rotten tooth in a rough district of New York; it is lonely though it is surrounded by many others of its like. It seems to have feelings- that sense of alienation usually only found in misfitting teenagers, wrapped up in their own personal dramas and excluded from social life.

6 stories of tiny flats. 6 stories of brown, peeling carpets and mouldy paint, of dented doors with locks broken by wannabe gangstas, of couch potatoes with unpaid power bills.

And at the top of these six floors, there is a strange man who no-one remembers moving in. Who never changes. Who pierces the crooked corridors with screams in the night.

Surrounded by piles of papers and scrunched-up takeout boxes, shivering in the sparse protection of the flimsy door, a grown man waits, staring at an outdated computer screen. Not that any other tenant has ever been far enough inside.

They all know he's a loon, but because hardly anyone has ever _seen_ him, the children are told all the familiar stories- by their parents, (harried and cross ansd just wanting their children into bed) they are told that he is a boogeyman who'll come to get them if they don't do what they're told. By their elder brothers (old enough to hold a gun and old enough to have fathered illegitimate children, but apparently not old enough for a driver's license) they are told he's really someone's dead grandfather, so old and stubborn that his spirit wouldn't leave his body when he died. By their friends (swaggering and pretending to be older and wiser than they really are) they are told he is a monster in the shape of a man, who escaped from hell and is forever waiting for the other demons to catch up to him.

Some of these stories, especially the last, are closer to the truth than one might think.

And one thing that everyone agrees on is his name- a name nobody can remember giving him, a name that doesn't suit him- Merry.

Now, to set the scene: It's 1:00 on Tuesday morning, and the family in the flat next to Merry's has been woken again by an awful, inhuman scream.

"What the hell?" Cally rubbed her eyes sleepily, wincing as she poked the black eye that stained her honey-coloured skin. Lisa stared at the door to their flat with serious eyes.

"Mom, this isn't the first time. You know it's Merry."

"Yeah, you're right, sweetie," she said, picking up her eight-year-old daughter and kissing her on the cheek.

"Marvin says he's a monster."

"Oh, sweetie, you know that's nonsense. There's no such thing as monsters."

Another wail shredded through the quiet.

"Then why does he scream like that?"

"He's a very sick man, Lisa. But there's no-one to help him."

"Why can't we help him, mom?" Lisa's chocolate-brown eyes were wide in her small face. Her mother sighed, twisting one of her black braids around her fingers.

"We've had this talk, sweetie. People don't want help from strangers."

"But-"

"That's enough about Merry, sweetie. Now how about some hot milk and bed?"

"Okay, mom."

But Lisa couldn't sleep. Whatever people said about Merry, whether he was a monster or not, she knew this: his name might mean happiness, but he sounded like the most heartbroken and lonely person on earth when he screamed.

000

The memories lay tantalisingly just at the edge of his reach. Where were they? He could remember some people, but not their faces, not their names, not who they were to him… some with green eyes, some with blue, some with no eyes at all.

Why couldn't he remember?

Why did he have to hide again?

Why hadn't anyone come to find him?

000

"Go on," Marvin whispered, eyes fixed on number 600. "Don't be a chicken."

"But I don't want to," the kid whispered, wearing the same terrified, stranded look as someone who needs to pee and can't find a toilet.

"It's just a dare, one of their other friends said. "Don't be such a pussy."

Lisa seeped forward, putting her hands on her hips. "If you're so brave, why don't you do it?" she demanded.

Lisa was smart for a third grader. She knew that Karen was only picking on Tom because he was knew, and that she didn't have the guts to carry out the dare herself.

"Why would I do that? It's Tom's dare," Karen said, covering her moment of confusion with a quick comeback.

"Alright," Lisa said, "I'll do it. Tom, your dare is now mine."

The children around her murmured, looking confused. "Can she do that?"

Marvin shrugged helplessly as his best friend strode off towards the door.

Lisa hesitated momentarily before pressing on the doorbell. She was greeted by silence, and the muffled whoops of her friends.

She waited a moment. Then knocked. Again, louder.

Again.

"Goddamnit can you STOP?!" Came a loud male voice from within, accompanied by a lot of banging and crashing. "Just wait a sec!"

The door opened a crack and Lisa felt her legs trembling with fear as a wave of stink overpowered her. She felt an almost overpowering need to run, but stifled it, held her ground.

The door continued to creek open until it was just wide enough for a face to appear.

"Whad'you want, kid?"

She opened her mouth, but found it was too dry to speak. He was going to kill her. She never see her mommy again.

It was strange, because he looked so familiar. She felt almost as though he had seen him before- but she'd never knocked on Merry's door before.

And shouldn't he be older? Because he couldn't be older than her mommy, and her mommy was young, not even thirty, she thought.

"Well, kid? What's up?"

"I- I'm sorry to disturb you sir. I got dared by my friends. I had to come up to the door, knock on it, and say hi. Hi."

Merry's eyes softened, and he opened the door a little wider. "Now why would they dare you to do that?"

"Umm, cause they think you're a monster. No offense, mister. You seem real nice."

He frowned. "Why would they think that?"

"I dunno, mister. Maybe it's cause you scream so much."

Maybe she was mistaken, but she almost thought she saw a smile touch his face.

"But that's not because I'm a monster, kid. That's because I'm afraid of the monsters, just like you."

"Well," she said nervously. "I don't wanna take up too much of your time."

He threw his head back and laughed. Really laughed. It was so happy, so carefree and infectious, that if it had been anybody else's laugh, Lisa probably would have laughed right along with them.

"It's been a while since anybody's said that to me. It was nice to meet you, miss…?"

"I'm Lisa," she said, and stuck out her hand.

He grinned and shook it.

"Lisa. Nice name. You can come talk to me anytime you want."

She nodded and ran off to join her friends. Her bravery would be told and retold in years to come, and her status in her group of friends was forever ensured.

000

The memories lay tantalisingly just at the edge of his reach. Where were they? He could remember some people, but not their faces, not their names, not who they were to him… some with green eyes, some with blue, some with no eyes at all.

Why couldn't he remember?

Why did he have to hide again?

Why hadn't anyone come to find him?

000

He held his head in his hands, leaning against the door, sliding down until he sat among the masses of paper and litter on his floor.

"Idiot. Now she isn't safe."

"Forget her, we aren't safe! What if she's a spy? What if she's on our tail?"

"Don't be stupid, nobody would use a child as a spy. And besides, she doesn't know anything about us. She's clueless."

"Exactly why you should have left it alone! Now she'll be back, and she'll know more!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If worst comes to worst…"

"I don't want to have to deal with your messes!"

"You won't have any choice. We'll have to do it."

Merry slowly climbed to his feet, perfectly aware that he was completely alone.

000

Lisa stood bewildered before the door of number 600, with nowhere else to turn. Her friends were fighting. Sharpelle and Karen were in the middle of a feud and the lines had quickly been drawn by the other children. Casualties were high and there was no room for non-combatants. She didn't know hwo to stop the fighting, just that it needed to be done.

So she rang the doorbell, and she knocked, and she waited.

"Just- god, gimme a sec!"

The door opened, just a crack.

"Mr. Merry, it's me, Lisa."

A pause. "Who?"

"Lisa. The girl from the other day?"

"Uh… Sure. Come on in.

The door opened up wider and she got her first full view of the resident monster.

He was tall and lean, pale as a sheet, with haunted eyes and fingers that wouldn't stop twitching. He was wearing holey old sweats.

As she came in, the door was shut behind her quickly.

I need help, she wanted to say, but her tongue wouldn't work. Stacks of papers taller than her lined the crooked hallway and there was a layer of food cartons and wrappers littering the floor like leaves in the Fall. The stench was rank. She didn't even know what it was- rotting meat, sour milk, dust and tears and memories, she had no idea. but she had to breathe through her mouth and it was all she could do not to retch.

"Oh, sorry. I know it's a mess… I don't usually get visitors…" he said, shifting uncomfortably behind her. "Just go on through."

It was almost as if she was lost in another, extremely messy world. With widened eyes she registered that the walls had holes knocked in them and all the windows were boarded up.

She perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa.

"What was it that you wanted?" he said softly, sitting on the floor in front of her.

"I… Um… I just don't know what to do."

He smiled softly, nostalgically. "It's been a while since anyone asked for my advice. What do you need help with, darl?"

"I… My friends are fighting. I don't know how to make them stop."

He sat back on his haunches with a whistle. "I don't think anyone's _ever_ asked me for help stopping a fight. Although there was that one time…"

"Please, what do I do?"

"Well, who's the fight between? Why?"

"Sharpelle and Karen. And I have no idea why they're fighting."

The corners of Merry's mouth lifted in a sad smile. "That's a good reason to fight."

"No it's not!" Lisa said, surprising herself at the strength of her conviction. "It's stupid!"

"That's true. But you've gotta face it, kid," he said, leaning forward. "by the time you're as old as me, you will have been in too many stupid, pointless fights to count. The important thing is whether or not you made up after them."

"But how do you do that?"

"They might never make up. They might take a really long time. It depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you can make _them_ see that the fighting is pointless. That's the first step. The next step is to make them reconcile."

"That sounds hard."

"It is. It was."

"… How old are you?"

He looked off into the distance, almost as if he couldn't see her at all.

"I don't know. I've lost count. Too old, though. Much, much too old. And I've made much, much too many mistakes."

He suddenly focused on her, eyes sharp. "But you don't have to do the same thing. Be careful! Make him happy! Don't let him go! Be strong!"

Lisa was frightened, and as he slowly reached forward as if to grip her on the shoulder, she slipped out of her seat, running for the door, and tripped over a huge pile of papers.

"Lisa!" he yelled, and ran up to her. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

She tried to get up, tried to back away. "I was just talking to you!"

"No you weren't! How did you get here? Did they let you in? Did they find me?! HOW DID YOU FIND ME?" His grip on her shoulder tightened, his eyes filled with swirling vultures.

"I- I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, I'm sorry, please let me go-"

He blinked and his eyes cleared. "Lisa?"

"Please, I'm sorry,"

"Oh god, why did I let you in? It's not safe in here, you have to leave,"

"They could find you," he whispered, as he shoved her out the door. "I'm a bad person."

She was left alone, trembling, in the corridor, the advice he had given her ingrained in her mind.

000

"Sir, I believe we've located Specimen 1."

Alan Coyle, FBI director and one of the most powerful men in America, looked at his subordinate in surprise. "… Is this some kind of joke?"

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not at a liberty to prank my higher-ups."

"True. And you're sure?"

"We're sure."

"… Wow. It's been so long."

"Almost 50 years, sir."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Bring him in."

"Of course, sir."

000

Merry was screaming. There were so many faces, so many things he knew, and they taunted him- he knew he was old, far too old, knew that he had been betrayed, knew that he had betrayed himself- he had loved and hated ad fought for good and OH GOD HIS MIND

I'M FALLING TO PIECES…

000

Outside, there was a nondescript black Toyota, containing two unremarkable men in ordinary suits with ordinary faces. One, the man riding shotgun, was holding a pair of binoculars, which he held pointed at a 6th floor window.

The driver's mobile phone rang, still set to the original ringtone. He lifted it to his ear, accepting the call.

"Agent Reynolds."

"It's time. Bring him in."

He didn't even blink as the call was ended after a seven-word exchange, merely hung up himself and turned to his partner.

"It's time."

000

Lisa sat outside of number 559, waiting for her mom to get home from work. She was late and it was dark, but she had to wait.

She found herself looking furtively at Merry's door. She wondered if he knew she was there.

That was silly, she told herself. He wasn't a monster, just very sick.

But the idea that he might know she was there still freaked her out.

000

Merry froze, eyes darting to the door.

They were here.

They had found him.

Oh god, they had found him.

_There was nowhere to hide. _

000

Lisa watched as two men in suits climbed up the stairs and approached her.

Who were they? Why were they here?

"Who're you, misters?" she asked, desperately fighting the urge to run. They ignored her, not even sparing her a glance as they passed.

"Where are you going?" she asked curiously, then stopped. They were standing at number 600.

What were they doing there?

The first one rang the doorbell. Then he knocked. Then he knocked louder.

And again.

But there was no answer. No irritable, harried shout, no sound of falling papers, no door opening a crack. "Sir, we must ask you to open this dor, or we will come in by force."

"This is Agent Reynolds and Agent Parsons from the FBI. Please, we must ask you to leave the premises."

Again, there was no answer.

Reynolds seemed to take this in his stride, and without blinking an eye, he took out a gun and shot the lock, then kicked down the door. You could hear it hitting the mountains of paper as it fell.

"What the…?" Asked Parsons, blinking at the wave of smell. Reynolds didn't say anything.

They advanced, and the eight-year-old girl could only watch and wait.

000

Alan Coyle was led into the basement of a holding facility, where he could watch the man sitting broken at the table to his heart's content.

"Yes, that's him," he breathed.

50 years of chasing shadows, and finally he was faced by a man indistinguishable from the photos in his case file. The 50-year-old photos.

"Yes," he said quietly to himself. "That is the United States of America."

**So… Should I continue?**

**Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. I thought I'd written something for this story… and then there's just nothing. **

**Crap. **

**Oh, wait! That's right- I **_**did**_** write something. But it was complete and utter bullshit. And I hated it. And it deserved to die. So it did. **

**Anyway, happy birthday! And to all those who reviewed, followed, favourited, whatever. Sorry it took so long. You might want to re-read the first chapter, I had to. Whatever rocks your boat. **

"Where are they?" Alan asked quietly, calmly. This was not the first time he had been down here. In fact, he was well-acquainted with the scents of fear and pain.

The thing strapped to the table stayed silent, taking huge, gasping breaths to fill its lungs with air.

It was stripped bare, its skin covered in filth and scars. It stank, of more thing than many people had ever smelled. It was wet with the torture, and still it was silent.

"Tell me," Coyle said. "Now."

The United States of America stayed resolute, without even the energy to shake its head.

Alan's mouth thinned even further, if that was even possible, and he nodded sharply to the other men in the tiny, concrete room.

Waterboarding, he thought, as they closed in on his prisoner country, is a study in contradictions. Drowning a man on dry land is in itself a contradiction, and it is a surprisingly elegant form of torture- which is, by definition, brutal and clumsy. Dating back to the Spanish Inquisition, as did so many of the best interrogation techniques, it was used by Americans in World War II, Vietnam war, and intelligence officers during and predating those wars.

Sadly, it had fallen out of use thanks to those insufferable do-gooders who thought that torture, whether the person deserves it or not, was morally wrong. Never mind that the information gained from waterboarding (while sometimes unreliable) could arguably have saved their lives many times.

Now all he needed was to break this _thing_, and it wasn't working. But it would.

Predictably, the USA began to choke and splutter under its towel as the water was poured over its face, thrashing and flexing and twisting, trying desperately to _make the torture stop_.

Coyle didn't make a practice of smiling, but if he had, this would have brought a grin to his lips. He knew what the country was going through, having been subjected to it during his training, and he also knew that this thing deserved every second of it. It was a traitor. It had directly gone against the wishes of its higher-ups and probably even revealed top-secret information to his counterparts in other countries.

Now all it needed to do was talk. It was good at that, wasn't it?

A sickening _snap_ filled the air, as the USA thrashed so violently that it broke its own arm.

_And it howled. _

000

Lisa blinked up at the man in the hallway.

She didn't want to trust him; she was old enough to know what men in the hallway meant for her mom (betrayal and pain), and besides, the last two men who'd been in the hallway had dragged the lifeless body of Merry out from number 600. They had been bad people, and for all she knew, Merry was dead.

But there was something about his gaze as he stood in front of the door that made her want to help him; she wasn't sure what it reminded her of, but it was a bad feeling, she was sure, and not something she wanted people to go through. Plus, he just looked so _lonely_.

"Hey mister, can I help?" she yelled and he jumped a little, like he hadn't even known she was there.

"Sorry, what did you say," he asked, looking pretty distracted.

"I just wanted to know why you're standing there, and if I can help," she said. "You look real upset."

He smiled ruefully, finally seeming to focus on her. "Yes, I suppose I am."

There was a little silence, and then Lisa decided she had to move. So she went up to him and stuck out her hand. "I'm Lisa," she said. "I live nearby."

He took her hand absently, saying "Arthur," and kissed it. She giggled a little. Didn't only old people do that on telly?

He smiled a little, but it quickly faded. "Are you looking for the guy who lived there?" she asked.

He looked back to the silent apartment. "Yes," he said softly. "I have been for some time."

"His name was Merry," she said slowly, looking at the ground. "And he use to scream real loud at night."

His expression twisted for a moment, like he wanted to punch something or cry- she wasn't sure.

"I met him once," she said, hoping it would make it better. "He was nice."

Arthur nodded absently. "Of course he was."

"But the second time he kept on changing… Like maybe there was more than one of him."

Arthur looked back at her. "Did he invite you in?"

He nodded. "But then he said that it was dangerous. And that they were coming for him. And then they did."

Arthur lenaed in. "Who came?"

She tried to think back. "Umm… I think they said they were from the FBI. You know, like from those old movies on the TV.

"The FBI?" he asked. "Really?"

She nodded. "I think so. And then they kicked the door down and dragged him out."

Arthur put his hands over his face, massaging his temples like he had a really bad headache, or he wanted to cry out of frustration and anger and sadness, but didn't want anyone to see. Lisa could relate to that.

He finally raked his fingers through his hair and sat down on the floor, his back to the wall, legs stretching across the hallway. "So how long did you know him?" he said finally.

She sat down next to him. "Well, like I said. He used to scream a lot during the night, and we were all scared of him. I got dared to go say hi."

Arthur's eyebrow raised, and even though he wasn't looking at her, she could see him smiling a bit.

"Were you scared?"

She thought a bit. "Yeah. But not for very long. Like I said, he was real nice."

He grinned wider. "Like I said, of course he was."

She thought a bit, then asked, "How did you know him?"

He looked down at her sideways, and then up at the ceiling. "Well, I was like a brother to him a long time ago. We were family. Even after he left, we worked pretty closely."

"So you had a fight?"

"Mmm," he said softly. "Yes. We fought. I always regretted it, but I don't think he ever did. After all, he got exactly what he wanted."

"What was that?"

"Independence," he said. "He wanted me to stop babying him."

Lisa snorted. "That's a stupid reason to fight."

He did the eyebrow-raise thing again. "Oh?"

She nodded emphatically. "Well, I always tell my mom that I don't want her to take care of me, but when she's not here, I get scared."

He went back to staring at the wall, chewing on his lip, like Marvin did whenever he was doing homework. Like he was thinking real hard about something.

"Well, like I said," he whispered, almost too soft for her to hear it. "He never seemed to regret it."

Lisa wasn't sure what to say to that, s she kept quiet for a while. Then she remembered.

"When Sharpelle and Karen were fighting, I went and asked him for help."

"What did he say?"

"He said that once I got to his age, I would have been in too many stupid, pointless fights to count, and that the important thing was whether you made up after them. And that it might take a long time for two people to make up, but that you had to make sure they knew the fighting was pointless. And then he said that he had made way too many mistakes, and not to do the same thing."

He was frowning at the wall now, chewing his lip in concentration. "He did?"

"He did."

"And what did you do?"

She smiled. "What he said. And it worked."

"He shook his head. "That's got to be a first."

"He said that, too."

Arthur nodded and got up. "I'm very sorry, miss Lisa, but I have to go."

She got up too, and looked at him, standing right in front of him so he knew she wasn't scared.

"Are yu going to save him now?"

He looked deep in her eyes, and nodded. "Yes. I am."

She nodded, then stuck out her hand for him to shake. "Good."

But just as he was about to leave, she yelled after him. "Wait! Arthur!"

He turned. "Yes?"

"When you save him, you night have to fix him on the inside too."

He smiled sadly. "I think you might be right."

And then he was gone, and all she could do was hope that Merry was alright.

000

"Why don't you talk?" Coyle asked during a brief respite.

It blinked, and asked in a voice grated bloody from screams and coughing and water, "What?"

Coyle came closer to the thing on the table, his voice deadly quiet. "Why won't you sell them out? Your duty to your people is more important than your duty to the other creatures. So why don't you talk?"

The thing smiled slightly, a simulation filled with pain and mechanical bitterness.

"Because, for one, I can't remember anything beyond some colours. There is nothing to tell. Like I have said."

Coye blew air from his nose, a snort so filled with contempt it didn't even bother to be a proper snort. "Yes, you aid that. What else?"

The thing shook its head slightly, then laughed, a cruel, facsimile of a mockery of a maniacal cackle. "Because as little as I remember, I know this: I will not, under any circumstances, subject another person to what you are putting me through."

Coyle slapped his hands down on the table and yelled. "_You know the locations of the agents in the governments of every single country on the planet, agents that you are in league with, things lie you that you have told our national secrets!"_

The thing on the table suddenly went even colder. _"I told them what you told me to tell them! I was loyal to you until my last breath, and then you SHOVED ME IN A FUCKING CELL AND STOLE MY MEMORY! YOU TORTURED ME FOR INFORMATION I COULDN'T GIVE YOU AND THEN YOU TORTURED ME MORE FOR BETRAYING YOU __**EVEN THOUGH I FUCKING DIDN'T!"**_

Coyle stepped back into the shadows. "You deserve everything you get," he said, wiping spittle from his face. "Your act doesn't fool anyone."

The thing rolled its head to the side, meeting his eyes with a look of pure malice. "I will get out again," he said. "And this time, I won't try to hide. I will _hunt you down_."

Coyle shook his head, then disappeared. "You will never see the light of day again."

000

England stood up at the podium at the front of the meeting, waiting for the paper-shuffling to die down. TI would, he knew. It was the beginning of the meeting, so there was still a decent dose of concentration in the room.

(He had long stopped hoping that a certain someone would crash the doors open and proclaim himself the hero, because it had been more than 50 years, and he'd almost forgotten what that disruption was even like)

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, trying to calm his nerves. "There has been a development in Project GPS."

The room fell silent. Dead.

He looked down at his hands, trying desperately to stop the shaking, because of course he was worried, bt he was finally within reach-

"What sort of development, Igirisu-san?"

He looked up at Japan, whose usually taciturn face was showing his emotions freely- hope and fear, and a healthy dose of trepidation, all washed down with relief.

"I found where he had been living in his capital city. Brooklyn, to be more specific."

"Had been?"

"He's not there anymore. As of a few days ago."

There was an audible groan. "England, maybe this is enough. We must accept that we cannot find him."

England shook his head vehemently. "This time he didn't move. He was found. The FBI."

Another dead silence.

"Oh god," France said, in a moment of uncharacteristic seriousness. "They found him?"

"Yes," England said. But there is a positive side to it."

"What could possibly be positive about this?!" France asked, quickly returning to his usual, melodramatic, self.

England sighed. "Yes, they've found him. However, that means that there are only a few places he can be. There are few facilities secure enough to hold a nation, and what with the result of his last imprisonment, they won't be taking any chances.

"so," he said, pulling his gun out of his holster and placing it on the podium, "With the right application of intelligence and strength, we can free him. We are nations, after all."

Predictably, that was when the flames began.

000

**2000 ish words. I can probably finish here. **

**So anyway. There'll be at least one more chapter, for the escape, and at least another chapter after that, for the epilogue. But maybe more. **

**I will do my utmost to update as soon as possible, but now that I know exactly what I'm doing, it shouldn't be long. **

**I hoped you liked it! It was a relief to finally get that out. **


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